X Marks the Spot
by ScapeArtist
Summary: This will be my resting place for random Tumblr requested drabbles and one-shots. I guarantee they will all be Hook-centric. Beyond that, probably Captain Swan and Captain Charming are the main pairs. Any warnings will be listed at the start of the story.
1. Tequila!

**A/N: This story was in response to this request on Tumblr: "Is there any chance you could write more sick Killian like in the first couple of chapters of 'Sit, Stay, Feel?'" Warnings for alcohol induced vomiting. **

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><p><em>Seven hells.<em>

Killian gripped the edge of the commode with his hand and fixed his hook around the hinge of the seat to give himself some stability as he heaved the previous night's libations into the bowl in front of him, for what felt like the fiftieth time, as the small room spun and swam before his eyes. He'd been there for a few hours already — a cold sweat gathering at his hairline and running down his neck and back, while he wished a pox upon those who suggested he "have another" each time he declared himself through drinking. He hadn't felt this vile since the second morning in Neverland after Milah's death when he drank himself into a stupor not just to dull the pain of losing _her_, but his hand and the phantom spasms that accompanied it. That night he begged whatever dieties would listen to let him die, but this time he'd be satisfied with the death of David Nolan, orchestrator of his current state.

In the background of his jumbled and hazy thoughts, Killian could hear knocking on the door of the room he'd been occupying at Granny's since Emma moved out with Henry, but all he could do was moan weakly and retch again, grateful only for the cool touch of the basin as his hand slid down to hold it, letting the slight chill of it creep up his arm and give him something pleasant to focus his mind on. He rested his head on the toilet's seat and closed his eyes, wishing for the pounding outside to stop not just to ease the throbbing it caused to his head, but because there was not a single person he wished to see at the moment. Especially not the person he was fairly certain was behind the door.

"Killian! Are you in there?" Emma called out.

"No," he mumbled.

"I can hear you, you know. Let me in," she demanded.

"No," he said again. Louder but not too loud. He didn't want to shoot his eyeballs out of their sockets after all.

He could barely make out her irritated mumbling as he heard the lock slide back in its chamber and the doorknob turn, followed by the commiserating low moan of the hinges. The bloody woman and her lock picking skills could not just leave well enough alone. If he was going to die in this most undignified manner, Emma Swan was the last person he wanted to witness such a thing.

Her footsteps came closer and Killian felt his stomach roil again. The blood pounding in his ears muffled her voice as he counted to 10 hoping to quell the surge forming in his belly.

"…Let me help you," he finally heard her speaking softly through the last defense he had — the unlocked and not-quite-closed-all-the-way bathroom door.

"G'way, Swan. I'll be fine," he managed to say before losing the battle of wills with his innards. Again. Killian flushed the toilet just as Emma stepped through the door and looked at him with such pity in her eyes he had to look away.

"You look like shit," she stated.

He shot her a glare then placed his forehead back on the toilet seat and closed his eyes, pretending she was not there. She was obviously not in on the game because she spoke to him, dragging his attention back to her.

"What the hell happened to you? You weren't downstairs this morning and no one had seen you since last night. I was afraid you fell off the docks or something," she said, the concern in her voice as excruciating to him as the stabbing pain at the base of his skull.

Lifting his head and peeking at her with one eye, he spat out, "Your father is what happened. Bloody bastard."

Emma attempted to hide her smile behind her hand, but Killian saw it nonetheless and turned his head away from her, this time resting it on his arm which he had used to lever himself upright in indignation, but failed miserably in the attempt, almost cracking his head on the toilet seat instead.

"My father?" she asked not sounding remotely surprised.

"Aye. Your _father_. I went with him for 'boy's night out' at his behest…such a ridiculous name for grown men going out for a dram…and he kept plying me with drinks the whole night," Killian complained, his voice rough and tired.

"What the hell were you drinking? I've never seen you like this with rum," Emma noted.

Killian huffed in disgust as he slowly unbent and stared up at her as blandly as he could given his unsteadiness inside and out. "That's because we weren't drinking _rum_, love."

Emma arched her eyebrows in surprise. "Oh?"

"No, your dear father wanted to 'drink something else for a change' and requested a bottle of…What was that poison?…Oh, yes, _tequila_."

Emma winced and wrinkled her nose. She looked at him with a sympathetic smile and asked, "You didn't drink the worm did you?"

At the word "worm," Killian's stomach rebelled again without warning, and he threw himself over the opening of the toilet as what he prayed was the last of whatever was left in his abused guts hurled out of him. He spared a glance at the results. _Thank Poseidon's floating balls._ There was no worm staring back at him.

He could hear the water in the sink running and then felt a cool, wet cloth over his neck as Emma rubbed his back in small circles, trying to soothe him.

"Sorry. I was just kidding. There are no worms in tequila bottles anymore," she admitted, sheepishly.

Killian glanced over his shoulder at Emma, and raised his hand in her face. "Do not speak to me, woman. Just let me die here in peace with what little dignity I have left, would you?" he demanded.

Emma rolled her eyes at him and handed him a glass of water, which Killian reluctantly took from her. He sipped from it, letting it refresh his feverish body, spreading from his throat and throughout his torso like a gentle wave lapping at a sun-bleached shore. Killian let it settle and hoped the water would stay put. He handed back the glass and Emma placed it on the counter behind the sink, then she squatted down, putting one arm around his back, as she lifted his arm over her shoulder. "Come on, you big drama queen. Let's get you to bed."

"Adding insult to injury, eh, Swan?" he hassled her as she hefted him upright, taking on more of his weight than he would have liked, but his leg was asleep, and, frankly, he felt too weak to stand on his own.

Snorting, she patted his arm leading him out of the bathroom and to his bed. "Yup. It's part of my charm."

Killian sighed and tilted his head, "Like father, like daughter, I suppose."

Emma shot him a disparaging look and deposited him on the bed with perhaps a bit less care than he would have liked. He squeezed his eyes closed against the whirling room and its hideous flowered walls. He opened them again, cautiously, to see Emma smirking somewhat smugly at him.

"Not quite. You'll be happy to know that my dear old dad is home, passed out in the bathtub, covered in _his_ own vomit," she informed Killian.

"Well now, that does sound like just desserts to me," Killian crowed with a satisfied nod. "At least _I_ made it to the toilet," he said. She shook her head and stifled another laugh.

Emma left him sitting there and returned to the bathroom where he could hear her moving around and running the water again. Killian shucked his shirt over his head, balled it up, and tossed it across the room, then attempted to pull off a shoe only to smack himself in the face when his hand slipped its grip. Two more tries, and his shoes were safely on the floor while he fell back on the bed, unbuttoned his trousers, and began trying to shimmy out of them. The movement was just making him queasy, so he stopped to rest for a moment.

Killian opened his eyes at the sound of Emma clicking her tongue. "Look at you," she said, shaking her head with an amused smile. Placing the glass of water she had brought with her down on the night stand, along with two white pills, she gripped the cuffs of his jeans and gave them a yank. "You're a piece of work," she added.

"Part of _my_ charm," Killian quipped, his eyes drifting closed again.

"Hmm…is that what this is?" Emma asked, tugging him upright again so she could steady him as he finally pulled off his pants.

Her touch on his skin should have set him alight as it usually did, but his senses remained muted from the alcohol and all he could do was be grateful he wasn't regurgitating on her feet. Never again would he betray his rum for that foul liquid. With a finger to his shoulder, Emma pushed him back down on the bed and handed him the water glass and pills.

"Take these and sleep it off, buddy. You'll thank me later," she said.

He downed the pills in one gulp and handed the glass back. She removed his hook, settled him under the blankets, and kissed his forehead before covering it over again with the cool cloth from earlier.

Killian's hand snaked out from under the blanket and slipped his finger in the waistband of Emma's jeans, pulling her closer to the bed. "Indeed, I will, Swan. Indeed I will," he assured her with a sleepy leer.


	2. Do As I Say Not As I Do

**A/N: This was a "Talk Like A Pirate Day" request for some Captain Charming. **

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><p>"Ok, David, that's just…<em>weird<em>. I think you should stop. Now," Killian could just make out Mary Margaret cautioning her husband from the other side of the door.

Killian and Emma exchanged glances, and Emma shrugged, shaking her head.

Just as he was about to knock, Killian heard David respond in an accent not his own, yet more than a little familiar, and paused before touching the door. "Come now, love, you know what day it is!"

"Oh, no," Emma groaned, tipping her head back as if pleading with the heavens to open up and take them—or perhaps her father—away from whatever was going on in there.

Killian lowered his hand from the door and tilted his head in Emma's direction, one eyebrow arched in question and the other furrowed in confusion. Emma winced, then peeked at Killian looking very much chagrined. He could tell she was contemplating turning around by her furtive glances at the stairs, but had no idea why when she'd been happy to go visit originally. Her inner dialog went on for a few more seconds then she sighed and knocked reluctantly on the door.

Mary Margaret's voice got louder as she came closer to the door, "You do remember he wears a…" the door swung open and they were greeted by a shocked-looking Mary Margaret. "Hook!" she exclaimed with a forced smile. "I mean Killian! Emma! How…unexpected! What are you _doing_here?"

Emma stepped through the door first giving her mother a hug. "Dad…asked us to come by?" she said with the same forced smile and some secret code in the tone of her voice that was obviously meant for her mother along the lines of "_What the hell is going on?_".

"Oh? _Did he now_?" Mary Margaret countered in her own code which he took to mean "_No bloody clue_," as she shifted her gaze to her husband then back to Emma and Killian, smile still plastered across her face.

Killian raised his eyebrows and stood there about as uncomfortable as he'd ever been in their presence. He glanced at the open door behind him wondering if they would be offended if he just slipped out.

"Ahoy, mate!" David shouted from across the way, waving at Killian and putting a stop to his escape. "Darling, I invited our lovely lass and the good Captain over for a dram to celebrate!" he said—in the same accent as before—while he pulled the rum bottle and glasses from the cupboard.

Killian caught the beseeching look on Emma's face aimed at her mother, but Snow only rolled her eyes and shook her head. She turned a weak smile on Killian and stepped aside to let him in the rest of the way.

"What _exactly_ are we celebrating, _Dave_?" Killian asked.

David grinned and held out a tumbler of rum to Killian. "I'm glad you asked, mate! Apparently, today is a very special day in this realm. Aye, they call it 'Talk Like A Pirate Day,'" he informed them. "Since you are the only pirate I know, I've been speaking like you in celebration of the day. Right, love?" he said, winking at Mary Margaret who held up her hands and shook her head, backing away from the conversation.

"Really, Dad?" Emma asked, her voice rising an octave. "It's a jo— …It's not meant to be … you know what?" she stammered, pinching the bridge of her nose. "_You_ talking like _him_…well, it's creeping me out," she blurted.

Killian knocked back his glass of rum, finishing it in one gulp. He placed his hand on Emma's arm and said, "No, love, it's alright. You're father, here, is just showing his appreciation for my former lifestyle. Right, mate?"

David puffed out his chest, nodding proudly. He held up his glass in salute. "Aye! Aye!"

Killian echoed his nod, slower and with more deliberation. "Well, _mate_, back on _my_ ship, when anyone _appreciated_ the Captain in such a manner, they often found themselves cleaning out the bilge dregs…" Killian paused and held up his empty glass before continuing, "With their drinking cup and bowl. Messy business that, and often lead to a lack of appetite for several days as you might imagine."

He could see David contemplating just such a scenario and he deflated a bit with a queasy look. Emma nudged Mary Margaret with her elbow when her mother snorted behind her hand. The two of them turned away, giggling.

David sighed, refilled Killian's glass and said as he raised his own, now full, glass, "Aye. I see. Then I shall be forever grateful it is not 'Live Like A Pirate Day.' Cheers, mate!"

"Cheers indeed," Killian agreed.


End file.
